When I met my husband,
he brought me you.

Double dates
turned into
heart-to-hearts—
you became my friend.

Wedding bells rang.
We got married.
A new life began.
A friendship now
engraved in gold,
'till death do us part.

You hold me when I cry,
you hold me when I laugh—
we are
unblooded sisters.

I look at cradles,
and you hold my hand.
The years go by.

I blow out the candles—thirty.
Ten years
gone in a flash.

But I don’t look at cradles anymore.
There are tears in your eyes
as you ask why.

You see my eyes drift to him—
just a second,
but you don’t miss it.

You hold my hand,
telling me,
The way you’ve been moving
has always been him.

Don’t lose yourself.

And it hurts me,
because if anyone would know,
it would be you—
my heart-sister.

Brought to me
by a man
whose loyalty was never mine.

And still—
you were the gift he gave me
without meaning to.

Not his to keep,
but mine
in every way that matters.

The blue and red lights flash,
The handcuffs snap shut—
But what was your crime?
I kept asking myself that,
As I watched them take you away.

Was it your courage when you decided to move?
Was it your audacity to leave everything behind?
Your ignorance, thinking you could see it through—
A better life for you and your children?

Or maybe it was just the fact that you did.
Working two jobs,
Starting a business,
Buying a home,
Placing roots.

That was it.
That was your crime.
It had to stop.

The blue and red lights flash behind you,
Your heart quickens, but still,
You turn to me and smile—
Lying through your lips,
"It’ll all be okay."

I couldn't tell you
the lessons I learned
at twenty—
I was only just
discovering what it meant
to no longer be a child.

I couldn't tell you
the lessons I learned
at twenty-five—
my frontal lobe
had only just caught up.

But at thirty,
I can tell you this:
the most important thing
I’ve learned
is to love.

It sounds simple—
cliché, even—
but when you give
love,
love somehow
finds its way
back to you.

And that—
that is the fuel
that will fill
your soul.

6 a.m.
The alarm sounds.
Eyes open slowly,
Fighting the pull of sleep.

7:30 a.m.
Coffee in my mug,
I race out the door.
I’m late
Yet somehow,
There’s still time to think of you.

12 p.m.
The phone rings endlessly.
Paperwork piles up,
Fork in my salad,
The first bite pulls my mind to you.

3 p.m.
Meetings drag.
Click-clack of typing,
Emails constantly pinging
Until 5 p.m.
And my hands tingle,
Knowing it’s almost time.

6 p.m.
The pan sizzles.
The air fills with the scent of ground beef.
The door creaks open
My husband greets me.
The TV hums softly.
Bowls of pasta in our laps,
And still, I think of you.

9:30 p.m.
Water boils in the kettle.
A steaming mug finds his hands,
While mine search for you.

I open my laptop,
Eyes aching from the screen,
But I can take a little more—for you.

The mouse hovers over a small document.
Tea steams as the page loads.
I smile.
Hands rest on the keys,
And I begin to weave.

It's Wednesday.
A flicker of nerves runs through me.
What will it say today?
The machine that holds half my worth.

I worked out four times last week.

But you skipped a day—two weeks ago.

I've been eating 1200 calories.

Have you?
What about the late-night snacks at 10 PM?
What about the weekends?

The scale will see.
It won’t lie.

I get on, and immediately, I hate myself.
A 2.5-pound weight gain in 14 days
I want to starve
I want slit my wrists
See if it teaches me a lesson:
Eat less,
Work harder,
Harder,
HARDER

The scale mocks me.
I hate it so much,
But I can’t stop.
It’s an addiction.
Tell me—
What will you show me in seven days?
Will I finally be enough then?